


Never Another

by asktheravens



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Ages, M/M, Non technological
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:26:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asktheravens/pseuds/asktheravens
Summary: Antonius lives a mortal life in a quiet monastery in Dark Ages Britain. With his heart failing, he feels his time coming to an end, but the beautiful pagan Norseman who is his lover pleads with him to accept one last temptation- a golden, blushing apple, brought from his homeland.





	Never Another

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightwalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker/gifts).



> This is just a little prompt fill I wrote a long time ago for nightwalker (she asked for a Non-Technological AU), but it only existed on Tumblr and recent events have convinced me that's a bad idea. It's not the most amazing thing ever, but I've always liked it and I wouldn't want it to get lost.

 The faint scratch of Antonius’ pen on vellum ceased as pain spiked in his chest.  He lost even the faint and guttering light of the candelabra as his vision swam and darkened, his pulse hammering its halting beat in his temples.  When the spell passed, he saw he’d scrawled a wavering line into the margin, and his pagan was behind him.  Thor wrapped powerful arms around his chest, rubbing his aching ribs through the rough wool of his hassock.

"How goes it, little scholar?  Do the stars continue in their paths?"  Thor’s voice was warm and rich, fond and indulgent.

"Of course they do," Antonius told him.  He allowed himself a moment in the warmth of Thor’s embrace, closed his eyes and tried to distance himself from the pain of his failing body.  "I’m nearly finished," he told him, waving Thor away.  He set his teeth and his mind and began scraping down the vellum to erase where he’d marred it in his infirmity.

"How do you study the stars from in here?  Come with me and we’ll go see them."  Thor’s hand was warm and heavy on his shoulder, the temptation of his body palpable.

"I haven’t time," he said.

"I think you can’t manage the hill," Thor said, his voice gentle.

"That too," Antonius admitted.  He gave in, snuffing the candles and breathing in the fragrant smoke as his eyes adjusted to the starlight.  Without another word, Thor scooped him up and cradled him against his chest, wrapping him in his soft crimson cloak that was probably worth as much as the monastery produced in a year.  He carried him out and through the courtyard of the sleeping cloister, past the gate and up the hill until they were clear of the hallowed ground.  Thor crunched through a patch of rotten snow that still lingered on the north face of the hill, weaving through the trunks of fruit trees just beginning to awaken in the chill of early spring.  He lay down in their favorite trysting spot, arranging Antonius gently on his chest, and in companionable silence they watched the stars for a lingering moment.

"Is it very bad tonight?" Thor asked.  He trailed warm lips over his lover’s neck, but did not push for anything more.

"No worse than usual," Antonius lied.  He felt his death like a stone sitting on his chest, a constant companion now.

"How long do you have?"

"A while yet.  Long enough to finish my work, surely."  It has to be, he thought.

"Come with me.  Leave this and come home to the stars," Thor whispered in his ear.

"Thor," Antonius sighed.  "I still don’t believe in you.  You are no god."

"What am I, then?" Thor asked. He grinned and gave his long golden hair a toss so it shimmered in the night.

"A prince, I suppose," Antonius mused, fingering Thor’s magnificent clothes.  "A heathen.  A beautiful pagan sent to tempt me from the true path."

"I am all of those things.  And I am the Lord of Thunder, Master of the savage lightning."

"If it’s any consolation, I don’t really believe in Him, either," Antonius admitted with a vague gesture back toward the monastery and its Christian faith.  "I’m just here for the books."

"Then come with me to my pagan kingdom," Thor persisted.  He reached into his tunic and pulled out a miracle, a perfectly firm and ripe apple.  It glowed faintly in the moonlight, its pink and golden skin reminding him of happier times with Thor.  "Eat this and live."

"Is it supposed to be magic?"  He found, here on the hilltop, it was easier to believe his lover’s claims.

"Aye.  The best I have.  Antony, please.  For me.  I’ve buried too many, and I can’t bear to lose you as well."

"I still don’t believe you," he teased.

"Then it’s no more than a ripe apple in spring, and a small enough favor to ask."

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was accepting something he didn’t fully understand, but Antonius reached for the fruit. Thor watched him as he brought it to his lips, searching for signs of hesitation or doubt. Just before his teeth broke the golden skin, Thor’s hand landed heavy on his own.

“Do you doubt me?” he asked. The full weight of his ancient gaze pierced him, seeking the truth.

“I’m a scholar, Thor. I don’t believe in magic. If it ever existed, it’s long gone from this world.”

“Can you not manage a little faith? You would waste my gift with your skepticism.” He tried for a light tone, but Thor’s eyes still pleaded with him.

“I believe that you believe it,” Antonius relented. “Is that enough?”

“It must be, it seems.” He let go and Antonius bit into the apple.

Even the taste of its juice reminded him of Thor as it burst over his tongue. The mouthful of tart-sweet flesh banished the chill of winter’s grip and filled him with warmth, as though they sat in the mellow heat of autumn sunshine. As he swallowed the tightness in his chest eased and his limbs began to tingle.

“Thor,” he gasped, “What is this?”

“I told you, it’s magic. Finish it,” Thor urged, and Antonius tore into the fruit. He felt the heady rush of his first tumble with one of his father’s armsmen, as though while he chewed he was that skinny, sharp-tongued boy again, right down to the prickle of the man’s beard and the sweet musty smell of the hay. Another bite and he held a book for the first time, his eyes sweeping over the words like the wind. Youth and strength flowed through him and the pain in his chest drained away. He drew full breaths for the first time in years.

When the apple was gone, he sat with tears streaming down his cheeks, holding nothing in his hands. Not even a stem was left of the fruit, though his teeth had never met a pit or core within it. Thor sat behind him, leaning on one arm and steadying Antonius with the other. He smiled for Antony, smug and tender at once. He could not understand how he had ever thought Thor was a human man. The God of Thunder was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“What have you done to me?” he asked, and the richness of his own voice surprised him.

“I’ve made you as much like myself as I can,” Thor said. He moved his hand from Antony’s shoulder to stroke the hair back from his brow, and for the first time Antony could feel the electricity that pulsed under Thor’s skin. He launched himself into Thor and buried his face in his neck and the thick fall of his hair, and Thor’s laugh boomed his delight through the quiet evening. Antony kissed his neck and found he could taste much more on Thor’s skin than he remembered, not just salt but ozone and ocean and the smell of rain mingling with the apple on his tongue. Thor wrapped his arms around Antony and held him close, murmuring endearments as his human lover tried to get as close to him as possible. Antony’s hands roamed over his clothes and worked at his belt buckle with his characteristic scientific determination, but Thor stopped him.

“But you feel so good,” Antony pleaded. “And you won’t have to be so careful with me.” He was not arrogant enough to think that Thor would not have to hold back at all, no matter what magic he’d used.

“Soon,” Thor promised. “I grow tired of fumbling about with you in the Midgardian mud,” he said, and gestured to the dormant orchard. Antony realized he could no longer feel the chill of the spring night. “You lie with the prince of Asgard, and I wish to show you my home. Will you come with me?”

“Is it true, then? You are a pagan god?”

“I am. Why do you think the storms never come here, and the Norsemen never raid? They obey me, and I watch over you.”

“Do I have to die to come with you?” Antonius was not, in the moment, sure that he would deny Thor even if he did.

“No, no,” Thor chuckled. “I have done what I can to keep death from you. But you must be willing. Do you agree?” Antony looked up at the night sky and saw a golden star that did not appear on any of his careful charts. He felt fear, but also exhilaration.

“Yes,” he said. “Take me with you.” Thor stood and swept Antony to his chest with one arm, like a maiden from a story. He raised his other arm and stretched his hand out as though expecting something.

“Watch this,” Thor said. He smiled down at Antony and for a moment nothing happened, though Antony felt a strange tension, almost a humming in his bones, that he could not place. A massive, short-hilted hammer slapped into Thor’s waiting palm at the same moment that a dazzling white flash of lightning struck them from a cloudless sky. The wood of the apple tree behind them cracked and smoked, but the bolt did not burn or blind Antony. Thor did seem to think it would impress him, however. A deafening crack of thunder boomed and rumbled all around, swallowing anything they might have said for several heartbeats.

“You really are…” Antonius breathed. Long-held beliefs began to crumble and topple in his mind like a ring of ancient standing stones.

“As I’ve said,” Thor kissed him on the forehead.

“There are others like you, where we’re going?”

“Not quite like me. I am the best and the most handsome of my people. But I have family, yes, who you will meet ere long.” Part of Antony was not sure he had thought this all the way through, but the larger part did not care how far he was in over his head. He would see Thor’s kingdom if it killed him. Any lingering regret over his abandoned manuscript also drained away, for it would be hopelessly small compared to what Thor promised. He could never turn and walk back down the hill now, never return to his cold and narrow bed in his cold and narrow cell. His prayers had been empty before, but now they would be lies if he tried to speak them.

“Do you have books there?” he asked, his last concern coming to his voice unbidden. Thor tilted his golden head back and laughed.

“Aye, we’ve a few, if my bed isn’t enticing enough for you.”

“A man cannot live on carnal pleasures alone,” Antonius said with false sanctimony.

“Give it a try for a season.” Thor swung the hammer and leapt into the air. Antony clung to his neck and waited to fall, but Thor’s arm held him effortlessly and the wind whistled by them. He opened his eyes for short moments, though they watered and stung, and saw the orchards and fields of the monastery and the neighboring village below, slumbering and silent in the moonlight. Thor’s cape snapped and fluttered like a pennant.

Thor veered down and the ground came up to meet them, but he caught Antony tighter and touched down on a clear hilltop a mile or more away from the nearest settled area. The woods here were deep and untamed, and Antony wasn’t even sure who claimed them for hunting. Ancient trees brooded on the slopes, but all that crowned the top of the hill was a strange table of mossy stones.

“Heimdall!” Thor called, but Antony could not make out the rest of what he said. The words were half-familiar, as though he had known them, or would know them soon, but for now they meant nothing. Thor’s arm tightened around his waist. “You may want to hold on to me,” he said. Light filled the quiet clearing, shimmering with every color at once. It seemed it came up from the ground and down from the sky at the same time, forming an endlessly intricate knot pattern in the grass. Antony longed to study it, but Thor leapt into the air again and he could only hold on. Everything blurred around him and the earth hurtled away from his feet, sending them down a tunnel with a floor like the rainbow and a roof like the vast darkness of a moonless sky. He heard his own voice, laughing and screaming, and tried to look at everything at once, to memorize every sight that went past.

Thor landed too soon, but there were now sights to captivate him.

“Welcome to Asgard,” Thor said. “Welcome home.” Antonius held Thor’s arm, only studying the floor as he waited for his heart and stomach to catch up from the trip, but even the paving stones were a wonder.


End file.
